Writer's Block and Complaints
by Witchy Pixie
Summary: Christopher Paolini is paid some visits.
1. Murtagh

Christopher Paolini was sitting at his desk, typing furiously, then deleting, then typing again. Furusterated, he growled at the computer. "I hate writer's block!" he said aloud. Just then , the door to his office opened. In walked...Murtagh.

Christopher almost fell out of his chair.

"What are you doing here? You're—fictional!"

"I have a complaint. Several complaints."

"You don't get to make complaints! What complaints do you even want to make? You're a very interesting character."

Murtagh rolled his eyes.

"Yes, interesting. I'm _interesting_. Listen, I just want to know what you've got against me."

"Against you?"

Mr. Paolini was slightly frightened at this point. Murtagh looked extremely intimidating what with the sword and the murderous expression.

"You have treated me like absolute _crap _this ENTIRE story! Who got chucked in a cell in Farthen Dur? Who had to live freaking GALBATORIX his whole life? That thing with Morzan throwing the sword at me was unnessacary pain! But, you seem to enjoy causing me pain!"

"I—look, I needed it for character development!"

And that's another thing!" Murtagh was on a roll. "I'm the evil one! Always the evil one! What did I ever freaking do to my stupid brother! I showed him so much freaking MERCY and yet everyone wants to kill me!"

"Talk to Nasuada about that! I'm portraying you as misunderstood and misused by and evil king!"

"Oh yes, Nasuada! I almost forgot. Thank you. Yes, you have portrayed me as romantically interested in NASUADA!"

Murtagh appeared to believe that was enough to condemn someone to death. He crossed his arms and glared. Christopher looked puzzled.

"What's wrong with liking Nasuada? It shows you're human. Beside's she's a decent enough character."

"She's a control-freak! 'Oh yes, Elva, endure the pain of an entire war to keep me alive!' 'Eragon, seperate yourself from your dragon so you can listen to some dwarves yak!' 'Roran, you saved two hundred soldiers! Fifty lashes for you! Oh, and did I mention, you're going off to fight tomorrow. But since I'm so generous I'll heal you PARTIALLY! Anyway, YOU said she wanted to kill me!"

The author closed his eyes.

"Nasuada just wants what's best for the Varden! I have to reveal her real feelings in Book four, then you can find out. Consider yourself lucky, you didn't get Arya rejecting you like Eragon did."

"Yeah, Eragon is pathetic."

"May I ask how you know all this?"

"I've read the cycle like eighty times. What else is there to do when you've left me alone and bored in Galbatorix's castle? Why are there any chapters from MY point of view?"

Christopher shrugged. Chapters from Murtagh's point of view were a popular request with fans.

Murtagh picked up a piece of crumpled paper and read it aloud

"Oh Arya, princess off _slash, slash, cross out _the fierce you are _scribble, scribble, _the love that _scratch out" _He looked up. "What is this?"

"I told you! I have writer's block!"

Christopher sighed. He'd been having problems writing book four, rabid fans demanding the final chapter and now, either he was going crazy or even his characters were angry with him.

"Look, what exactly do you want me to do?"

"I want you to write book four. We're all bored out of our skulls waiting. Eragon and Galbatorix have a go fish tournament going. Angela has now proved that absolutely nothing exists except herself, frogs, and werecats. Portray me a little more kindly. No more pain. No more horror stories about my childhood, no more battles, no more we-like-making-murtagh-suffer fanclub."

"Most people like you. You've got several million fangirls." pointed out Paolini.

"Do not get me started on fangirls. Or that movie. Unless you want me to ravage your entire country."

Christopher ran his hands through his.

"Fine. I'll get a move on. Help me clean my office up and we'll talk about how you want to be portrayed."

The two unearthed layers of papers, old dorito bags, letters for fans, and old, moldy, pizza crusts. Underneath all this was an office. Murtagh pulled up a chair next to Christopher's desk.

"OK, so what do you want to happen?" asked Christopher.

Murtagh looked surprised

"I don't know!You're the author."

"You haven't liked what I've done so far."

"I know, but I can't write my own story! Where would be the fun in that?"

"Well then what do you want me to do?"

Murtagh shrugged.

"I guess...do whatever you want."

Christopher raised his eyebrows.

"You do need me!"

Murtagh scowled.

"Admit you were wrong." said Christopher.

"I never do that." Murtagh glared defiantly.

"I'll make Saphira eat you if you don't."

"Fine. I was wrong." Murtagh spat. "Now I'm leaving. I wonder if Eragon won the 574th game."

"_I really do need to get a move on" _thought Mr. Paolini as Murtagh disappeared in—what else?-a cloud of black smoke.

I can't decide if I like this or not. Feedback please!

-Sparkle


	2. Oromis

Christopher Paolini was recovering. He had decided that Murtagh's appearance in his office had been a figment of his imagination, brought on by stress. The clean office was evidence against this claim, but he had firmly told his mind not to think about it. He was succeeding so far. And, today, he had managed an entire paragraph. Yes, Mr. Paolini was in a good mood. That is, he was until Oromis walked in noiselessly and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Ahh!" The author jumped and looked around, wild-eyed.

"Greetings. I am—"

"Osthato Chetowa. Oromis. The Mourning Sage. The Cripple Who Is Whole." said the stunned author.

"Yes. I have come to—"

"No, no, no!" shouted Christopher. "No! It is NOT happening again! You are just another figment of my imagination! Fictional! You are FICTIONAL!"

Breathing hard, Christopher backed away toward the door. Oromis stood, calm as only an elf can be, until the author composed himself enough to ask,

"What are you doing here?"

"There is a matter I must speak with upon. Specifically, I wish to make a complaint."

"Not you too!" Paolini ran his hands through his hair exasperatedly.

"Have you been disturbed earlier?" Oromis asked, remaining infuriatingly calm.

"Yes! And by the way, you are _my _characters! Stop attacking me!"

"I apologize if you have been inconvenienced. Still, I would like to speak with you on the matter of my death."

Christopher looked stunned.

"Yes, that's right! I killed you off! You can't been here!" A look of relief passed over his face.

"I am here. I am, as you have said, fictional, and therefore still exist after you have 'killed me off'. It has to do with fiction physics. However, the matter at hand is more pressing. I wish to complain about my death scene."

"I thought your death scene was very good! Eragon saw it through Glaedr's eldunari! Very original!"

"Yes" said the elf with the air of one explaining something that should have been obvious, "But what, exactly did my death accomplish?"

"Well, Eragon had to become the teacher of the riders..."

"But in the war, what? You could have had me kill Murtagh and Thorn."

"Do you want me dead before I can finish book four? Because that's what would have happened! Oh yes," cried the irate author "Oh yes! I would have been murdered by fangirls! I can't kill Murtagh off before he has a romance."

"Why?"

"So they can imagine themselves in whoever-it-is's place! Don't you know _anything_? No, you don't. You are a fictional character. You do not exist. I invented you." Christopher appeared to be trying to convince both himself and Oromis of this fact.

"You did not invent the concept of the wise old mentor training the chosen one and then dying. It's extremely over-used. Besides, my point is still made; you could have had me do _something _important. My death was utterly unnecessary and without point."

Paolini glared at the elf.

"I also find that dying from falling of my dragon was hardly dignified." Oromis gave a little cough, as if embarrassed.

"Look, _Brisingr _has been out for over a year, what do you expect me to do about it?"

"It could be revealed that I'm not actually dead, I'm in hiding."

"I already brought Murtagh back after an alleged death. Doing it twice would be cheap."

"I suppose you're right. Still Christopher, take this as a lesson. Be kind to your characters. You might have less troubles with writer's block."

With that cryptic warning, Oromis disappeared in a tidy, non-polluting, white puff of smoke. Christopher Paolini proceeded stare at the area where the elf had been standing for a full fifteen minutes before he shook himself and went back to pretending it had never happened.

**Thanks for all the encouragement, this will get longer. I'm still not sure if it's that great, but oh well. It's fun to write. **


	3. Nasuada

Christopher Paolini opened his office door. He was returning from a therapy session where he had learned about homeopathic ways he could get rid of these hallucinations. Then, he had headed to a heath foods store where he had bought a special pill, made from rare purple flowers, that would correct the imbalance in his brain. He had also learned to to meditate and calm himself when he got stressed out. The therapist had hypothosized that his hallucinations where brought on by stress. This was all well and good, except for the fact that when he opened the door to his office his chair was occupied by none other than Lady Nasuada.

"Hello." Nasuada rose.

Christopher Paolini ignored her and began digging through the bag until her came up with the pills.

"I'd like—" began Nasuada but Mr. Paolini held up a hand.

"You are not real. I don't talk to people who are merely mental projections of my insecurities about my writing. Go away."

Nasuada looked stunned but recovered herself.

"I am not a mental projection of anything. I'm here to make a complaint."

"What now!" shouted Christopher, looking up form the tiny printed directions on the bottle. "What do _you _want to complain about?"

"My lack of a lover. Every other woman in the cycle has a significant other."

"Angela doesn't. Arya and Eragon aren't technically together. Besides—"

Now Nasuada sounded angry.

"The point is, someone likes Arya! Even if she chooses otherwise!"

Christopher sighed.

"This is too much. First of all, have you even read _Eragon_?"

Nasuada looked confused.

'Eragon? As in Shadeslayer?"

"No! Eragon as in the book!"

"Yes. You've given us enough time while we wait for book four!"

"I have WRITER'S BLOCK! Anyway, read page 465!"

He reached over and picked up his own copy of _Eragon_ and read "'_No, She only wanted to meet me. Doesn't she look like a princess? When she first enter through that doorway, I thought she was one of the great ladies of Galbatorix's court. I've seen earls and counts who have had wives that, compared to her, were more fitted for life as a hog than that of nobility.'' _Murtagh said that." He crossed his arms and glared. Here was something she could not deny. Finally, he was proving that he, the author, knew more about the cycle than anyone else.

"Someone I'm fighting against doesn't—" Nasuada trailed off, sadly. Christopher raised his eyebrows.

"Everyone knows Murtagh/Nasuada is a match made in heaven."

"But I haven't had a relationship yet! Even if he is in love with me, which I doubt, we haven't actually had a relationship."

"Neither has Arya."

"Faolin! And Eragon!"

"Technically neither of those..."

"You know what I mean! And Katrina's with Roran, and those are all the important women in the book!"

"Angela."

"Angela is too weird to be with someone. Anyway, I think it's completely unfair. You're portraying me as—"

"Look, I can portray you how ever the heck I want to portray you! You. Are. My. Character."

"You ought to be a little nicer to your characters. You're becoming like Galbatorix."

"I am an author who writes my characters as I see fit! That is not the same as a mad king who dominates an entire country!"

Nasuada frowned.

"I see we are getting nowhere with this. Therefore I challenge you to the trial of the long knives. Whoever wins will be the author."

"You are a character! You can't be your own author! I could kill you off you know." Christopher added evilly. "I could have you choke on something. Or fall off your horse and get trampled. Or something equally stupid."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I am pointing out that you have to do what I say, and you've gotten a pretty good role so far, so quit complaining."

Nasuada scowled.

"Fine but I still say—"

"I'll give you a sex scene in book four. Happy?"

"Yes."

Nasuada disappeared in another generic puff of smoke. Christopher Paolini collapsed in his chair and practiced the therapeutic breathing techniques he'd learned that day. They did him no good however and he was becoming more and more convinced that these hallucinations were, in fact real, and his characters were out to get him. He could only wonder; who would be next?

**Everyone seems to like this and I've gotta say, it's fun to write. Constructive criticism welcomed! **


	4. Arya

Christopher Paolini sat down and looked around the room. He was finally coming to terms with the fact that yes, these encounters with his characters were, in fact, real. He was fairly certain if he was going to hallucinate, he would not hallucinate his characters being angry with him. Therefore, all this insanity must be real. Just as he was thinking about this his office door opened and Arya stepped through it. Christopher was hardly surprised and waited for the elf to speak first. She was, after all, HIS character.

"May the stars watch over you." said Arya

"May good fortune rule over you." Christopher replied.

"And may peace live in your heart."

Arya opened her mouth but the author interrupted her.

"You have a complaint to make."

"How did you—"

"You are currently the fourth person who's made a complaint and I expect more."

"Who else—"

"Murtagh, Oromis, and Nasuada."

"I'm surprised Oromis complained."

"He thought his death was pointless and undignified." Christopher was very proud of how calm he was being. However, he was slightly upstaged by Arya because no one can ever be more calm and dignified than an elf. Arya was silent for a long time and finally Christopher asked,

"Well, what are you complaining about?"

"Certain people have made the comment that I show mary-sueish tendancies. While it is, of course, completely unfounded, I would like you to give me a small flaw so that I don't appear as a sue."

Christopher looked at her and said in a doubtful tone,

"Well...I suppose you could cut off your 'raven black hair'."

Arya gasped and fainted dead away. When she came to, Christopher was typing furiously.

"What are you writing?"

"I'm putting in a scene where Galbatorix curses you so your hair turns a hideous shade of orange."

"No! You can't do this!" Arya looked desperate.

This, however, was entirely the wrong thing to say. Christopher's face spread into an insane grin.

'Ah, you see, I am The Author and therefore, can do whatever I want."

Arya pulled out her bow and notched an arrow.

"My hair stays black."

"If you kill me, book four will never be done. You'll forever be in limbo between Brisingr and currently-titleless-book-four."

"I'd rather that than lose my hair."

"All right, then why don't we have you lose a fight with Eragon?"

"No!"

Christopher sighed, frusterated. He wondered if other authors had to deal with this. He imagiend J.R.R. Tolkien being stormed by angry hobbits demanding better protrayal. Arya stared defieantly at him nutil he asked

"Well then, what do you want?"

"Perhaps I could be captured again?"

Christopher shook his head tiredly.

"You can't do that. Sues are always getting captured. It builds sympathy for them and they look like tragic damsels in distress." He crossed his arms.

"Admit it. You _like _being a sue don't you?"

Arya looked away.

Christopher nodded.

"I am right. I am always right because I. AM. THE. AUTHOR."

Arya raised her eyebrows. And now it was Christopher's turn to shift uncomfterbly.

"Sorry. But I'm still right. Mary-sue"

Arya scowled. Elves hate being proved wrong. Christopher couldn't help smirking.

"If I am a mary-sue it's your fault." Arya had finally found a response.

"Oh go disappear in one of those puffs of smoke all right? I can;'t deal with you right now!" Christopher snapped.

Arya's puff of smoke was green and smelled of pine needle air freshener. Christohper sighed and smacked his head against the table. "Why me, why me, why me?"

**Ok, so this isn't as good as the others, but I have a ton of ideas (some of them curtesy of my mom) and will be updating soon.**


	5. Elva

The room was silent except for the sound of the keyboard. Christopher Paolini was typing up the following list

_Characters & their problems:_

_Eragon….isn't with Arya yet,_

_Nasuada….stress of leading the varden_

_Saphira….doesn't like that she and Eragon have had to be seperated_

_Thorn….not mentioned enough_

_Galbatorix….hasn't even appeared yet _

_Elva…_

"Feels like you forced her to feel the pain of thousands for no particular reason?"

Christopher jumped about a foot. Elva was standing with an amused expression on her face. Christopher realized for the first time just how _freaky _some of his characters were. Elva's eyes were creeping him out already.

Elva wasted no time in starting her rant. "You have a sadistic streak. You're forcing your poor readers to wait endlessly for book four because you don't think it's good enough. It'll never be good enough, Christopher, never. You'll never please everybody. If you kill off Arya, anti-Aryas will be happy but Eragon/Arya shippers will kill you. And probably, no one will _really _like it. There's a ton of people who hate your books anyway. They are basically Stars Wars with Lord of the Rings and A Wizard of Earthsea mixed in. Even your characters hate you. Give it up, Christopher."

Said author was at first hurt but then remember who Elva was. "Stop it. You can't use your mindreading thing on me. I _gave _you that power."

"And you're regretting it now, aren't you?"

"Shut it. Why do all my characters act like I'm an idiot, cruel, or both?"

"Because you a— "

"Retorical question. Anyway, what are you complaining about?"

"I feel, like Murtagh, that you enjoy causing me pain. You made me feel every agony of everyone in the surrounding area. In the middle of a _battle. Several_ battles."

"How do you know Murtagh?"

Elva rolled her eyes. "We hang out. I mean, everyone's basically bored since we can't actually do anything because it would alter the storyline. So we've been hanging around, messing with Eragon's head, graffitting Nasuada's tent, that kind of thing."

"I thought you liked Nasuada."

"I don't like anyone."

"I would think graffitting tents with someone would show some signs of—"

Elva through a book at him.

"Sorry. Anyway, where did you get graffiti?" Christopher massaged his forehead where the book had hit him. He really shouldn't annoy his characters.

"Elven invention. Anyway, getting back to my _complaint _don't you feel that you were cruel?"

"I made sure Eragon got rid of your curse!"

"Yes, after you turned me into a freak-kid!" Elva glared.

"CHARACTER. DEVELOPMENT. There has to be a little tragedy! Where would Luke Skywalker be is his parents were alive and not evil? Where would Gollum be without the precious? Bad things have to happen so I can show how you handle them."

"I don't freaking care!"

"Respect your author. Anyway, what do you want me to do? Like I've told everyone else, I can't just rewrite the last three books."

"I want a large and interesting part in book four."

Christopher nodded.

"And a love interest."

Christopher nodded.

"And my own chocolate factory."

In mid nod, Christopher realized what she'd said. "No, you don't get a chocolate factory! There aren't factories in Alaegasia!"

Elva made a face. "It was worth a shot right?"

"Yes. Now go vandalize the Varden or whatever."

Elva disappeared in a flashy purple puff of smoke, leaving Christopher to contemplate Murtagh/Elva. He fell asleep with his head on the keyboard.

**Elva was a popular request. I'm not sure if this was any good but…yeah…here it is. You decide. **


	6. Saphira

Christopher Paolini was, as usual, sitting in his office drinking tea. Instead of writing book IV, he was answering Shurtugal Q&As and leaving ridiculous teasers until the fans begged for mercy. However, this evil pastime was interrupted with a "ROAR!"

Christopher jumped. "_Oh no…." _he thought.

Saphira poked her head in his door.

_"Hello, author. You have my apologies for the scratches on the wall. Humans make their buildings too small."_

Christopher grimaced. All this talk of large, fire-breathing dragons was well and good on paper, but when one such dragon showed up in your office it was quite another matter.

_"Hello Saphira. What are you complaining about?"_

_ "How did you know I was complaining?"_

_ "You're the sixth person—"_

_ "I am a dragon."_

_ "Sorry. The sixth being to complain."_

_ "Interesting. Anyway, here it is. I'm getting tired of being left behind. Helgrind. Those stupid dwarf elections. All that time during _Eragon _when Brom and Eragon were going into towns to get provisions. I'm beginning to feel like a third wheel."_

Christopher closed his eyes and attempted some deep breathing.

"_Look, you're a dragon. If you can't solve your own problems, I highly, highly, doubt I can."_

Saphira growled.

"_I know that, puny human. Were you a normal human, I could crush you with one foot. As it is, you have author powers I cannot contend with, due to the fact that I would jeopardize book IV. I have problems that only you can solve. Therefore, I must content myself with making a request. However, bear in mind after book IV I am free to kill you should I dislike the outcome._

Christopher shivered. _"Would you really do that?"_

Saphira blinked and said "_Perhaps, perhaps not. Anyway, will you give me what I want?"_

_ "I don't have much of a choice, now do I?' _responded the irritated author.

_"My demands are these: I am not to be separated from Eragon again, especially on some puny human's bidding. I am to accomplish something large and receive credit for it."_

_ "Receive credit?"_

_ "Yes. Remember when I helped kill Durza? But am I called Shadeslayer? No. Even Arya gets come credit, but not me. I'd like to be recognized at least once."_

Christopher nodded.

"_That will be all. I'd better go, the two-leggeds are having a meeting they think is important."_

Some blue smoke began to appear around Saphira, but she did not disappear. She snorted and set her jaw. The Smoke continued to billow, but nothing happened. Christopher coughed.

"_Author?"_

_ "Yes?"_

_ "I appear to be…ah…stuck. In your hallway."_

Christopher fought to keep a straight face, then said _"What should I do?"_

_ "Push." _came the dragon's bad-tempered reply.

Christopher fought his way out of the room and found where Saphira's hind leg was caught under the dining room table. After extricating it, the smoke became more thick, and the dragon disappeared. Christopher returned to his office. As he walked down the hallway he saw large gashes in the wall, made by Saphira's scales. The carpet had holes in it from her claws. Mr. Paolini sat down in his office chair and laughed until his family appeared in the doorway.

"I think he's finally snapped." Angela said nodding wisely.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later." replied his mother.

**Saphira, another popular request. Enjoy, not sure if it's any good, but am I ever? Adios, Au Revoir, Auf Wiedersehn, Good night! ** **Girl scout cookies to those who can tell what awful old TV show I just referenced.**


	7. Galbatorix

After Christopher had managed to convince his parents that he was not, in fact, any crazier than usual, and the scratches on the wall had nothing to do with him and everything to do with their cat, he sat back down at his computer. Things were beginning to come together. He'd written an excellent chapter about Nasuada grieving about the necessity of killing Murtagh. Just as he'd began typing another scene involving Arya spectacularly losing a fight, his door opened. He whirled around and there stood a character he immediately recognized, even though he hadn't had any scenes yet.

Galbatorix. Tall, with a look for cold calculation in his eye, the ruler of Alagaesia stepped into Mr. Paolini's office.

Christopher's blood ran cold. Then he wondered if magic could work in the Real World. He also wondered what on earth the king was complaining about. He gulped and raised a hand in greeting.

"Hello, Christopher." The voice was, of course, rolling and mesmerizing, exactly as Christopher had written it.

"Hello. What's your complaint?"

"Dear, dear, Christopher. How can you assume such things?"

"Because six other characters have complained."

The king shook his head sadly. "I am only attempting to help you."

Christopher frowned in confusion. "Help…me?"

"Yes! Yes, I wish to help you. Your novel is not coming along too well, is it?"

"It's coming along fine!" exclaimed Christopher indignantly.

"I just thought you might need some ideas." The king began to pace around Christopher's swivel chair, much in the way a shark circles its prey. Christopher was forced to continue turning the chair so he could be facing the Galbatorix at all times. It was rather awkward, but encounters with mad, evil characters you've made up usually are.

"Now, I know you're planning on killing me off. And that would be one of the most idiotic things you could do."

"Why is that?"

"Because it's been done! The villains always die. Don't you want to be original?"

"How do you know it's been done?"

"I've been reading fantasy series' while waiting for book IV. Also, Nasuada had a Star Wars marathon and invited Murtagh and I."

"Nasuada's your enemy! You can't be watching Star Wars with her!" shouted Christopher. This was really the last straw. It was one thing for Elva and Murtagh to hang out, they were both anti-social outcasts who hated the world in general. They had something in common. But Nasuada and Galbatorix? They were sworn enemies!

"We've all gotten quite bored—"

"Waiting for book IV. I've been told. "

"Anyway, I think you ought to let me help with book IV. I have a plot mapped out already. You could let me live. I could facilitate the return of the dragon riders. And it would be a happy ending. Your readers would love it."

Christopher was beginning to contemplate this when the last, albeit small, sane remnant of his brain jarred him back to his senses. "I don't think so. I'd really rather write this myself. But thanks all the same." In his head he thought _"Please don't kill me, please don't kill me." _

Galbatorix smiled unpleasantly. "Last chance to take up my offer."

Christopher shook his head. "Now, if that's really all, I'm sure a convenient puff of smoke will appear. Thanks for visiting!"

"Actually that's not all. I have—"

"A complaint to make." _"How could I not have known this was coming?" _ Christopher thought. "All right, let's hear it."

"I have made no appearance throughout the entire cycle. I think I'm quite a good villain character, but I've made no appearance whatsoever. The closest I came was speaking through that idiot minion of mine."

"I'm saving your appearance up so it'll be mysterious. Suspense is a writer's best friend. Also, it'll be really cool when you _do _finally show yourself."

Galbatorix raised his eyebrows and contemplated the author.

"You know, I do think you're telling the truth. How very remarkable." He shrugged. "You're sure you don't want my help?"

Christopher nodded.

In a light, friendly voice Galbatorix replied "How unfortunate we're not in my land. I could force you to do whatever I wanted with this thing you call a series. Ah well. I'd better get back to my empire. Goodbye, Christopher."

The king's puff of smoke was black and made Christopher cough and choke. When it cleared he looked around his office and exhaled for the first time in the entire visit.

"At least now I know they can't use magic here." he said, making a mental note to remember this.

"Chris! Are you talking to yourself _again?" _called Angela from down the hall.

**I dedicate this chapter to Thanksgiving. Pause for a moment and think about what you've been given, and give thanks. **

**Review and let me know what you think! Galbatorix was hard interesting to write. I went from the angle of making him charismatic rather than insane, because according to Murtagh his moods can be either. I think Thorn's coming up next. This will wrap up, but not for a while. (Because I'm honestly not sure how to do it. I have a vague idea though.) **

**Challenge: Spot Galbatorix's grammar mistake! I was writing it and realized the correct way actually sounds incorrect, so I left it wrong. **


	8. Thorn

Chirstopher Paolini was, as per usual, sitting at his computer desk, typing away. Everything seemed to have calmed down. It had been a full week since the reigning monarch of Alagaesia had appeared in his office. However, the reprieve could not last too long. Just as he was debating actually following through on his promise to Nasuada, the house gave a huge shake. Something red completely obscured his window.

Thorn, apparently, had something to complain about.

Christopher braced himself for the mental contact. It was just as weird a feeling as he remembered.

"_Hello, author." _

"_Hello, Thorn. You have a complaint to make?"_

"_Yes author. It is about my name."_

"_Your name. You are making a complaint about your name. Not the fact that you're controlled by a madman, not the fact that your rider may very well be a madman as well, not the fact that your growth is being accelerated, not the fact that you're living in the middle of a war. No. Your name."_

"_Yes, author."_

Christopher sighed. _"Well let's hear it."_

"_I am the only dragon in Alagaesia without an interesting name. Glaedr, Saphira, Shruiken. All of those are nice sounding names. But Thorn? All it is is a bad pun."_

Christopher had to admit, it was one of his worse puns.

"_A thorn in the side of our enemies. Thorn and misery. It's very cheesy. I love Murtagh, but I think he did a very poor job picking my name."_

Christopher squirmed. Technically, it was still his fault. He wasn't about to remind Thorn of that fact however. Thorn was one of the more mentally unbalanced dragons and Christopher would prefer not to be turned into kindling before you could say "Brisingr!"

"_So, I was hoping you could use your author powers to change it."_

"_I'd love to do that Thorn,"_ Christopher said. _"_Stay on the scary dragon's good side, stay on the scary dragon's good side…" he thought nervously. _"But the trouble is that two books with your name in them have already been published."_

Thorn considered for a moment. "_I could get rid of those books_." He said, blowing a wisp of smoke a C. Paolini.

The author shook his head. "_I'd prefer you didn't, if it's all the same to you. My fans would not like having a dragon incinerate their copies of my work. Although,"_ he said with a sudden flash of inspiration _"It might cause them to go out and buy new ones!"_

Thorn looked extremely confused. It was no wonder, buying wasn't really Galbatorix's forte. He was more of a take-by-force type. Poor Thorn probably didn't understand the concept of paying for something. Christopher decided to change the subject.

"_So, you see, there's really nothing I can do." _

Thorn considered. _"Well, all right. I suppose I'd better leave, Galbatorix is expecting me."_

The red mass obscuring the window moved. Then, Thorn seemed to have another thought.

"_Say, Author, could do something for me?"_

"_If I can I will."_

"_Make sure Murtagh gets that female…what is her name?"_

"_Nasuada?_" asked Christopher.

'_Yes. He won't stop talking about her and it's annoying me."_

"_I believe they are ending up together in the end. I'm not exactly sure yet though."_ Christopher bluffed. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing on the MxN front.

"_Thank you, author." _Thorn took off, gouging holes in Christopher's mother's flower garden. Smoke billowed in the sky for a moment, and when it cleared the dragon was gone.

Christopher stared at the holes and then decided to head for the hills. He doubted he could blame this on the cat, but a plan to blame it on Angela was forming in his head. Picking up pen and paper he headed out to the neighborhood park where he curled up under a tree and wrote up several mushy scenes of reunion between Murtagh and Nasuada. He couldn't quite bring himself to actually write down a sex scene, but it was a start. Christopher fell asleep in the sun and in this way completely missed his mother's rage of terror over the destruction of her flower beds. He also missed the appearance of a new character in his office.

**Thorn was tough to write because he's a hatchling. I hope I did decently with it. Not long, but Eragon is coming up next and hopefully today I'll finish it and get it posted. **

**From last chapter, Galby's grammar mistake was (among other unintentional ones that I was unaware of :P) "Invited Murtagh and I." Grammatically, it should be "me" (Invited me, not invited I) but it sounds wrong so I left it.**


	9. Eragon

To be honest, Christopher was actually looking forward to Eragon's complaint. He really did like Eragon, seeing as he was originally modeled after Christopher himself. So when said Dragon Rider opened the office door without knocking, Mr. Paolini was indeed in a better mood than he'd been during any other visit. Until, Eragon started complaining. Which, as any cycle fan knows, is what he's best at.

"_Why _have you decided to make my life miserable? I mean really, what did I ever do to you? I was just a farm boy! I never did anything out of the ordinary and then you—"

"You have a complaint to make." The author sighed resignedly. Eragon at least, he'd hoped, might have been a little happier as main character. "What's it about anyway? I know life's been a little tough with Brom and Oromis dying but—"

"It's Arya!" shouted Eragon. "She just ignores me! Always! And I love her!"

Christopher stared at him.

"What about your mentors?"

Eragon waved his hand. "Stop trying to change the subject! I don't understand why I can't be with Arya!'

"Well, she's an elf—"

"Same excuses every time. Honestly, why?"

"It's character development. You'd be a mary-sue—" Christopher's conscience made an "Ahem!"-ing noise and he continued "Well, _more _of a mary-sue than you are now if it was easy for you to get the girl."

Eragon snorted. "Excuses! I've had a very hard life! I went from an ordinary farm boy to one of the most powerful beings in Alagaesia. And I went to quite a bit of trouble to rescue her and she's barely even grateful!" His face lit up with an idea "Do you want her for yourself? Is that it?"

Christopher laughed manically. He was getting quite good at it. "No, you idiot. Arya's already threatened to kill me."

Eragon looked puzzled. Suddenly, another look of inspiration and horror crossed his face. "She's not a lesbian, is she?"

The maniacal laughter was scaring Christopher himself now. "No, Arya is not a lesbian. Of that, you can be sure." _"Although it would end the book on a very nice liberal note…" _he thought.

Eragon looked relieved. "Good—listen _why _is she like this? What is wrong with me?"

"You're about a fourth of her age."

"I'm very mature! I've had to deal with things most people twice my age wouldn't even imagine and—"

"You know, you sound quite a bit like Murtagh. Maybe this skill at complaining is genetic." Christopher state dryly.

"How dare you! You know he's not my family! Roran's more my family than he is! Anyway I've got every right to complain!"

Christopher restrained himself from rolling his eyes and nodded. "Point taken, point taken. Anyway, you're just going to have to wait for book for to see what happens with Arya, capice?"

Eragon scowled. "I'll be an old man before you finish it."

"No you won't. You don't age while waiting between books. It has to do with fiction physics." said Christopher smiling slightly. He realized he was being as infuriating as Oromis and he was thoroughly enjoying it.

"You do need to hurry. I'm quite sick of playing go fish with Galbatorix. Do you have any idea when you'll be done?"

"Listen, it'll be written when it's written. And then you'll find out whether you live happily ever after with the cougar elf or live a miserable life alone. Now please go disappear in a puff of smoke. I need to berate myself about why I created such whiny characters." Christopher's exasperation was plain.

Eragon glared back at his author. Unfortunately, after all these visits, Christopher had become quite good at glaring himself and Eragon was forced to give up in defeat.

"Well, I guess I'd better be going. By the way, Nasuada had us watch these movies, Stars Wars they're called, and I couldn't help but notice some similarities—"

"Out!" shouted Christopher.

Eragon's puff of smoke was blue like Saphira, and after it cleared Christopher slumped back in his chair. _"Even my characters don't think I'm orginal." _He sighed and turned to his computer and began typing.

**My mum came up with the idea of Eragon thinking Arya might be lesbian. So here's credit where credit is due. **

**Two updates in two days…this isn't like me at all….**


	10. Angela

Christopher typed furiously. His months-long case of writer's block had disappeared. His characters, ironically, had given him so wonderful ideas. He didn't even look up when Angela (the witch, not his sister) walked in. She approached his chair slowly, and then gave him his adrenaline dose for the week when she tapped him on the shoulder.

"Ahh!" Christopher turned around and was face-to-face with Angela, the herbalist.

"Hello!" Angela smiled. She walked over to the beanbag chair Christopher kept around to slump in whenever he was dejected. Angela sat down primly.

"What are you complaining about?" asked Christopher wearily.

"Oh, I'm not complaining about anything. Although, come to think of it, there's several things wrong with the cycle. Your main character's a blockhead, you're following a Star Wars plotline, and you're taking too long to write book four."

"I've been told." Christopher said in a defeated voice.

"Well, now that that's out of the way, let's turn to more pleasant matters. I'd like to meet my inspiration!"

"Your what?"

"Angela."

Christopher's features dropped into a bemused look.

"Your sister! The one I'm modeled after!"

"Oh…right." Christopher shook himself and called down the hall "Angela!"

"Whatever you want, you can forget it! My week home from college has been turned into a vacation to Mordor because of YOU!"

Angela cocked her head. "What did you do? No doubt something completely blockheaded." She sighed.

"Angela, I'm not a blockhead." Christopher called again "Angela, I'm serious! Some here! There's someone I want you to meet."

Christopher could hear Angela grumbling all the way down the hall. When she opened the door to his room she jumped in surprise. "_Who _are you?"

"Angela." said Angela.

"What the-I'm Angela!" said Angela.

Angela (The herbalist) laughed. "I'm the character your brother has immortalized you as!"

Angela (the sister) looked taken aback. The short woman with an outfit that looked hippie-meets-medieval and a slightly insane demeanor was how she had been captured for the ages? She shuddered.

"Oh, it's not that bad!" said Angela. "Most readers love the eccentric characters! Anyway, what did my blockhead author do to you?"

Angela (the sister) shook her head. "Oh, just dug up mother's flower garden, for some in comprehensible reason and blamed it on me. Mother's been on my back about it ever since. Honestly, I'm thinking my brother's sanity has departed this world."

"I didn't dig up the garden, Saphira wrecked it when she took off." said Christopher. He felt that he at least needed to get that off his conscience.

"Which," continued Angela "brings us to a rather interesting question. Have I gone stark, raving mad, or have your _characters _started showing up in your office?"

"I wouldn't know as to the first one, but as to the second one, yes. Dear Christopher has been visited by his own creations." The herbalist smiled as if it were the most entertaining thing she'd heard of in a long time.

"How do you know about that?" asked Christopher, feeling that he needed to reinstate himself in the conversation.

"It's hot gossip in the Varden. Anyway, I thought I'd drop in. I wanted to meet you." she nodded to her real world counter-part.

"Well, why don't we go out and get acquainted? I know of a wonderful yarn shop."

"Sounds divinely delightful. (Nice alliteration, wasn't that?)" The witch smiled.

"It was! I love alliteration! Tell me, what do you like to knit most?"

The two linked arms and walked out, leaving Christopher extremely nonplussed.

About four hours later…..

"We're back!" Angela and Angela had returned, with shopping bags full of multi colored yarn.

Christopher looked up from his computer and adopted and air of indifference. "Really?"

"He always does that he wants to hide the fact that he feels left out." said Angela as she dropped the bags in her room.

"I hate to say it, but I'd better get back to the Varden, I'm needed as a healer. Besides, someone else probably wants to complain and I hate to get in their way. Angela and Angela exchanged a hug and then Angela the witch disappeared in in a whirlwind. Christopher stared.

"They always disappear in puffs of smoke." He said lamely when his sister asked what he was staring at.

"I would think a whirlwind would be more efficient. Like in _Children of the Lamp_." She exited the room and Christopher shook himself. He couldn't help feeling a little resentful. He was the author and Angela has dismissed him to go shopping with his sister. He shrugged and went back to typing. He'd become very resigned to weirdness since this ordeal had begun.

"Chris! Come here and pick out a color for your new sweater!" called Angela happily.

**Soooo here's Angela's visit. I wanted to do something original with her, rather than have her complain. So she and real-world Angela got together. R n R! **


	11. Brom

"_Hmmm, if Angela's not in the shop when Murtagh shows up we can have a little Elva/Murtagh scene…Oooh, and while Arya's at that meeting, Eragon could wait for her because he'll know she's really tired but she wants to talk….that'd be cute! And maybe—"_

"Just what do you think you're doing, boy?"

Christopher barely even jumped.

"Writing book IV like everyone's been telling me to." he said in in a resigned voice. "And what, Brom, are you complaining about?"

The rider/mentor/storyteller/dragonegg-stealer/Forsworn-slayer began pacing the room. "I was Eragon's mentor, and very important. And yet, I didn't make it through the first book. Not ever half of the first book. Why is this?"

"Eragon needed to start doing things on his own without your help." said Christopher dully.

"And that went well, didn't it?" asked Brom sardonically.

"Well, he did manage to kill a shade…"

"And make an idiot out of himself in front of the woman he loves, quite a few elves, the Menoa Tree, and his half-brother."

"The Eragon/Arya suspense is the best thing I've got going so far, elves already think they're superior, the Menoa tree thing was really Saphira's fault, and Murtagh traveled with him for months and didn't leave him to the wolves so he can't have that low an opinion of Eragon. Besides, if it hadn't been for the eldunarya—"

"And, you replaced me with one of the most boring mentors in history. Oromis is…well, Oromis. He's good. Patient, kind, wise. I feel slighted. And then, you traumatize my poor son, whose mental health isn't that great anyway, by telling him his father is Morzan. Morzan!"

"It was character development."

"Not much good if your characters go insane, is it?" growled Brom.

Do you always have a response for everything?" asked Christopher irritably.

"You should know. You wrote me."

"And you were one of my best characters. How do you know you're not getting resurrected?"

"Because you already brought Murtagh back from the "dead". (Brom made air quotes, which was quite amusing to watch.)Doing it twice would be cheap."

"Have you been talking to Oromis?" asked Christopher, memory stirring.

"No—why?"

"Figures." said Christopher. _"Do my own characters seriously realize how starved I am for new storylines?" _ "Anyway, what, exactly do you want?"

"I'd like some more attention in Book IV. Maybe a graveside scene?" Brom crossed his arms, daring Christopher to come up with a reason his request wasn't feasible.

"Sure." Christopher had decided agreeing with whatever his characters said was the best idea.

"Or maybe I could instruct Eragon from beyond the grave?"

"No." said Christopher desively. "Haven't you seen _Star Wars?" _

"How could I? You have me dead, in a diamond tomb!"

"Well, I was thinking of fiction physics…anyway, never mind. The point I'm trying to make is, you can't instruct Eragon from beyond the grave. You got a whole chapter to your history in _Brisingr. _I'll probably do some memorial stuff in Book IV. Now go back to your grave!"

"Not so fast!" Brom glared at Christopher. "I have a few more requests. Eragon needs to be knocked into shape over that elf Arwen or whatever her name was-" (Christopher winced) "-and as I'm not around to do it you'll have to arrange it with someone else. Nasuada maybe?"

"Sure." said Christopher. What else could he say? Besides, he had to agree with Brom, Eragon needed to stop obsessing over a certain elf princess.

"Good. Also, tell Nasuada she's doing a lovely job. Better than her father. Same to Roran, although he frankly scares me. I never knew he could be some violent. Also congratulate him on becoming a father. And tell him that people will do the math and realize that their kid is older than their marriage so there wasn't much point to the rush wedding."

"I'll…let them know."

"Good." Brom pulled out his pipe, lit it, exhaled and sent out a puff of smoke that enveloped him. He disappeared ad Christopher pulled out a piece of paper and wrote the following:

_To tell characters for Brom:_

_Eragon: Stop obsessing over Arya_

_Nasuada: lovely job, better than her father_

_Roran: Doing great, scary, congratulations, and people will guess when their baby was conceived._

He looked at it for a full minute before tossing it to the side.

"I'm writing a list of things to tell my _fictional characters _for ANOTHER _fictional character. _I'm insane, I've gone mad, round the bend, off the deep end, my elevator doesn't go all the way up, I'm a few sandwiches short of a picnic, I'm crackers, loony, nuts…."

**I don't like this one….and yet I post it. Laziness, children. It is a vice. A terrible, terrible vice…..oh just review. **

**By the way, I changed my username in case you didn't notice. **


	12. Katrina

Christopher Paolini looked down at his checklist of characters who had complained. There was a discouraging amount of checkmarks, and he was beginning to feel as if no one liked him. Now, what should have happened was something that would make him regain faith in the world. Instead, Katrina walked though his door with a murderous expression on her face.

"Hello," said Christopher neutrally.

"Don't give me that. I have a complaint to make." Katrina narrowed her eyes.

"_I didn't write her to be this threatening…." _thought Christopher. "Well, what is it?"

"That bi—"

At that moment, a flock of seagulls flew by, crying and drowning out Katrina's cuss word, portraying Pixie's pathetic attempt to keep this thing rated T.

"—Nasuada." finished Katrina.

"Ah," said Christopher. "I think I can tell where this is going."

Katrina paid no attention. "She sends my beloved into battle under an INCOMPETANT captain, he manages to SAVE the day and what does she do? Give him FIFTY lashes and then send him INTO BATTLE the very next DAY, with an army of URGALS who decided to question his authority and challenge him to a WRESTLING MATCH that could have killed him!"

Christopher rubbed his ears. "Yes well, it was character development for both him and Nasuada. And you'll notice he's not here complaining."

"Only because he has a PROBLEM disobeying superiors. Which, is ALSO your fault. And don't give me this 'character development' crap. You've said it to everyone."

"It's true."

"So if there's all this character development going on, why are both protagonists mary-sues?"

Christopher began banging his head on his desk. "It's..The…Same...Thing…Over… And…Over…Marysues…plaugerisim….what a tough life you all have…marysues…."

"Stop that!" yelled Katrina. Christopher stopped the banging and merely stayed looking down at the desk.

"Now," said Katrina "Listen to me. I want you do deal out some kind of death to Nasuada. I'd prefer to kill her myself but if that can't be arranged—"

"Look, if I do that, the Murtagh/Nasuada shippers WILL kill me. As will Murtagh, probably. So, I really can't kill Nasuada off. Besides, I rather like her."

"Who gives someone FIFTY lashes for SAVING two HUNDERD soldiers?"

"Can you not do that?" asked Christopher irritably. "Either shout at me, or talk normally. But shouting random words is giving me a headache."

"Oh and that's another thing," said Katrina "Poor you with a headache? What about me with morning sickness, and cravings and everything else that comes with being pregnant. Right AFTER I come out of Helgrind practically dead. Do you have something against me?"

"_If I had a dollar for every person who asked me that…." _thought the author. "Look, as I've told everyone else, I can't change _Brisingr. _I suppose you have the right to make demands for book IV thought." He delivered this speech with his head still resting on his desk. _"And I have the right to ignore them…" _he thought.

"Fine. I kill Nasuada, and Roran and I live happily ever after with our kid."

"I'll think about it. Now please, disappear in a puff of smoke. Your pregnancy hormones are frankly scaring me."

Katrina snorted, but disappeared in a puff of smoke that vaguely smelled of baby powder.

And then he realized that his head had been resting on the "delete" key this entire time.

**By the by, I have no problem with Nasuada, she's an excellent character (I used to dislike her but I don't any more) She just provides plenty of fodder for this fc. Then again, who doesn't? Murtagh does, and he's my fourth-favorite character. **

**The end is near…I'm thinking Roran and Orik next and maybe Shruikan. I also might give Selena a go. I mean, she has two idiots for sons. **


	13. Selena

After re-typing everything, Christopher sat back and took another swig of "Angela's Energy Odessey" This was a drink his sister had invented that combined Monster energy drink, mountain dew, and espresso. Although it tasted disgusting, he has managed to stay awake for two nights and recover everything he had lost.

At that moment, there was a sharp knock on his door, and before he could even get up, a tall woman with dark hair appeared.

"Hello, Selena. Tell me, what are you complaining about?" said Christopher calmly. He sat on his hands to calm their caffeine-induced shaking.

Selena lifted her chin. "My life. I have had one hell of a horrible life."

Christopher couldn't really argue with this, but he decided to let her rant.

"You made me fall in love with a child-abusing, sword-throwing, dragon-slaying, freak of a forsworn. AND have a kid with him. Then, I'm never allowed to SEE said child. Then, I have an affair and am HAPPY for a few months, have another kid, and then DIE! Not to mention, both of my children and FIGHTING each other, one is the biggest idiot to walk Alagaesia and has turned into some weird half-elven thing, the other is becoming extremely frightening and isn't looking much brighter than Eragon."

"You might not be dead. It's a pet theory of some of my fans."

"Hmm. I could live with that, although you already—"

"Brought Murtagh back from the "dead". Doing it twice would be cheap." said Christopher in a montone.

"Yes, exactly. Now, what are you intending to do about my sons? They've both been thoroghly screwed up by their care-takers."

"It's not Garrow's fault, he was a great father figure. Murtagh, I'll grant you had an awful childhood but Tornac was a good influence.I did the ebst I could by them, which is a whole lot better than _you _did and it's not my fault they turned out the way they did."

"You wrote them, of course it's your fault! And you KILLED me! I couldn't raise them properly!" cried Selena in exasperation.

"I can't have perfect characters. Well, besides Arya. But she's merely my written projection of the girlfriend I wish I had, according to my therapist. But the point remains, they have to have flaws. And they had to been their genetics from _somewhere._" he added meanly.

"Don't give me that. I want you to bring me back to Alagaesia and so I can give them the lecture of their lives." Selena began pacing.

Christopher had to admit she was beautiful, but quelled such thoughts as he realized that Eragon had been originally based on himself, so that would make Selena something like his mother, which would be creepy. He shook himself.

"Look, I might bring you back. I'm not sure yet. But I highly, highly, doubt you're going to get both of your sons to sit down together in the same room and not kill each other for long enough for you to lecture them."

"Oh they will," said Selena grimly. "Never underestimate a mother's power. Even a mother who has been absent most of their lives. They've been fighting amongst themselves for far too long. Even before this whole true name business they couldn't seem to get along. It's be expected with siblings but I'm going to put a stop to it."

"Fine. Your problem. I should warn you, even I can't get them to behave. They've both been in here complaining."

"Oh they have? Well they've brought all their troubles upon themselves. And then to complain complaining to you—it's classic teenager. Never take any responsibility for their actions. I'll tell you, Murtagh's the worst. Always making the excuses. He gets it from his father. And Eragon gets his stubbornness from Brom. He always thinks he's right. And he just has to go off and do things that cause an uproar, remember that thing with Sloan? Attention-seeking."

Christopher stared at the woman who he had written as the terrifying Black Hand complaining about her children acting like rebellious teenagers. It was almost funny, if you could get over the weirdness of the situation. Which Christopher really couldn't seem to.

"Yes, I remember. I may give you a chance to lecture your children. But I give no promises on whether or not they'll listen, capiche?"

Selena narrowed her eyes. "Terms accepted. But I'm not done."

Christopher dropped his head to his desk; this time avoiding his keyboard. "Well, go ahead."

"I would like to say that you have royally screwed up my life. I mean honestly, Morzan? Really? You could have given me some TASTE. Not to mention, I was looking over a history book, involving some "War of Worlds" you had—"

"World Wars I and II." said Christopher dully.

"—and I noticed an assasination group called the _Black Hand. _Even my TITLE isn't original." **(A/n This is really true! It was a group called the black hand that asassinated Franz Ferdinand (hoping I got that name right) which helped start WWI. Mind. Blown.)**

Christopher shifted uncomfterbly. "Look, it was a cool name. I didn't think anyone would notice."

"You're pathetic, Christopher."

"Did I write you to be this mean?"

"Is there any other explination?"

"Out!" shouted Christopher. "If you're lucky, you'll get a chance to lecture Eragon and Murtagh, but I'm not changing your name. Understood?"

Selena nodded. "Fine. And you, young man, need to get some sleep. Then get to work on that novel." And she disappeared in a puff of smoke that was black and threatening. Christopher thought about how on earth he was going to come through on his promise to allow her to lecture his protagonist and anataganist but the the effects of the caffine suddenly wore off and he fell to the floor in a rock-hard sleep and didn't wake up until noon the next day.

And only then because of the hammering on his door.

**Sooooo I've resorted to the cheapness of cliffhangers. But c'mon, you all know who this is. And I made this one a decent length.**

**A few chapters late, but here's to NonStickMage who caught the fact that I said Saphira ruined the flowers but it was really Thorn. **


	14. Roran

Christopher looked up blearily. Someone was pounding on his door. He got up and wondered who, exactly, was left to complain.  
"All right, all right, I'm coming!" he shouted bad-temperedly.

He opened the door to find Roran standing with his hammer poised to strike the door again.

"Normal people knock with their fists." said Christopher.

"I tried that. I've been trying to get your attention for almost ten minutes. The hammer seems to have worked better."

"I was asleep. What are you complaining about?"

Roran shrugged. "Two things. One, Nasuada and that whole fifty lashes deal. Two, I'm one of the four main characters. I'm the only one who can't use magic. Why is this?'

"Which main characters are you talking about?" asked Christopher, looking around for more Energy Odyssey.

"Eragon, Arya, Murtagh, and me." Roran recited.

"You're forgetting Nasuada." said Christopher as he gave up looking for his drink and collapsed in his chair.

"She deserves to be forgotten! After what she did to me! I killed two hundred soldiers—two hundred—and what thanks do I get? Fifty lashes! And then she sends me out into combat the next day! With Urgals who practically kill me!"

Christopher ran his hands through his hair. "One, Murtagh said the same thing about Nasuada so think about the company you're in."

Roran looked both surprised and offended but Christopher plowed on. "Two, it was character development for both you and her. And Katrina, a little bit. Three, the Urgal that disobeyed you—wasn't he displaying the same insubordination as you were?"

Roran pounded the desk with his hammer, causing Christopher to jump and all his papers to go flying.

"It's not the same thing at all! He was torturing someone and challenged me for command! I saved an entire company! And I didn't give him fifty lashes! I fought him. It's different."

"Sure it is. Look, point being, you are really one of the characters who has NOTHING to complain about. You have a wife, although she's a little crazy currently, a kid on the way, you're a captain or whatever title I gave you that I currently can't remember, and people like you."

"I still can't use magic. How can I protect Katrina if I can't use magic?"

Christopher pointed at the hammer.

"That's not practical. What if someone uses one of those seven death words on me? A hammer can't fight that." said Roran defiantly.

"You have a character shield. You're my token non-magical character so I can't get rid of you. So no worries there. Besides, isn't being super-humanly strong enough for you? Anything else?" He leaned back in his chair, hoping his caffeine-induced headache would go away.

"Just…I can't kill Nasuada?" Roran asked. Christopher rolled his eyes.

"No." he said firmly.

"And I won't die?"

"Probably." said Christopher.

"PROBABLY?"

"There's no garuntee of anything. Now get out. I have sleep to catch up on and a story to write and the characters with ACTUAL things to complain about are probably queuing up outside my door."

Roran disappeared in an average, gray puff of smoke and Christopher leaned back and attempted to get back to sleep. His mind was too busy however, trying to think who would be next.

**Orik is next, and his chapter's almost done…but after that I have finale semi-planned. Any last-minute character requests? Can't be too obscure.**

**Thanks for being loyal readers. You are all awesome!**


	15. Orik

Pounding on the door pulled Christopher out of his daydreams. He had been considering the Vault of Souls when he had jumped at the sound. "_My door's going to come off its hinges pretty soon_." he thought.

Christopher opened the door and had to look down. Suddenly, he was stomach-to-face with Orik the dwarf.

"Well hello, Orik. I was wondering when you'd be visiting. What is your complaint?"

Orik walked in and sat in Christopher's chair. This wrong-footed the author totally. Now, instead of observing his complaining characters from his awesomest-seat-of-author-power, he had to make do with his beanbag chair that was reserved for dejected slumping. He did not like this at all.

Orik steepled his fingers, quite a feat onsidering his knuckles of steel or whatever they were called. Christopher couldn't remember, and he couldn't be bothered to pull out _Eragon's guide to Alagaesia _to find out. (**A/N neither could Witchy Pixie)**

"I want to complain about something rather basic." the Dwarf said.

"Yes?" asked Christopher in an overly annoyed tone. _No_ other character had had the audacity to take his chair, and he was still angry about it.

"I am unhappy with my height." said Orik with finality.

'What?" asked Christopher, in disbelief.

"My height. I am—"

"I heard you!" shouted the author. 'I just can't believe it. You're a dwarf. You can't be 'unhappy with your height'! Dwarves are short! It's a prerequisite!"

Orik shrugged. "It's inconvient, Nasuada has disrespected me because of it, and if I have to hear one more 'How's the weather down there?' joke or another request to pick something up because I'm so close already, I'm going to make the Fall of the Riders look like child's play!"

Christopher was beginning to realize just how scary a short person with an axe and murderous expression could be.

"Orik, I hate to say this but I highly doubt I'm going to be able to do anything about that. And besides, nothing should be done about it! You're. A. Dwarf. You are short. It comes with the territory. Do you perhaps want to be a human or elf instead?"

Orik paled and shook his head.

"Well then." Christopher crossed his arms.

"Couldn't I be magically transformed? Like Eragon?"

"Once you do something once, you can't do it again. It's cheap."

Orik nodded.

"And," said Christopher "I'm really getting tired of this. In the beginning, the complaints were justified. Murtagh _had _a crappy life. Oromis's death _was _a gyp. Nasuada _does _deserve a lover. Arya," he paused and bravely continued on, _"Is _a mary-sue. But then, we've got Roran coming in here over that stupid thing with the lashes even though he's got one of the best parts in the book. And there's Eragon being impatient, Galbatorix wanting me to ally with him, Selena wanting to lecture her children, and now you, complaining about your HEIGHT! This needs to stop. I can't get any work done, and face it, a lot of your complaints are idiotic."

"Idiotic, are they, boy?" asked Orik, now angry. "How would you like to be below five feet tall for your entire adult life?"

"If I was a dwarf, I wouldn't mind!" yelled Christopher.

"Well you're not! And you obviously can't understand!" cried Orik.

"You sound like me when I was fifteen! Now, find a puff of smoke and get out of here. I can't take any more. And tell everyone else who's planning on complaining to cut it out! I might just kill you all off in Book IV like Douglas Adams did."

"Not so fast! You think you have ultimate power just because you're an author! Well let me tell you—"

Christopher dove for the keyboard. Orik, sensing his idea, grabbed the keyboard and threw it out of Christopher's reach. The author caught it in the air and leapt across the room (it was one of those cool, wireless keyboards). Orik came after him and Christopher ran back across the small office, took his seat in the chair and began typing furiously, hoping he had enough time before Orik got to him. This is what he wrote. This is also why you don't type quickly.

_orik fell tot eh ground and was instantly tied up byinvisible rops— _

Christopher heard a *THUMP* as the dwarf hit the ground. He exhaled and spun the chair around. Orik struggled against his bonds.

"You were saying something about ultimate power?" asked Christopher, with an insane glint in his eye.

"You have dishonored me and mine clan! You will pay! You will face the wrath of Durgrimist Ingentium! Eragon will find out about this!"

"Eragon's already been in here, begging me to let him be with Arya. So he's really not much of a threat. Apologize and go away and I promise you won't have that terrible of a fate. Just please LEAVE ME ALONE!" yelled Christopher, grabbing his hair and yanking. _"There stress is really getting to me…" _he thought vaguely.

"It's a deal." said Orik, who was looking more than a little scared.

Christopher typed him up release from his invisible ropes and a puff of smoke, and Orik disappeared.

The author buried his head in his hands. Things had gone way too far. He couldn't work like this anymore. Heck, he couldn't _live _like this anymore. Book IV would never be done, and he was probably going to go insane.

Suddenly, Christopher sat bolt upright. He had an idea. He just needed to talk to his characters.

**Next chapter is the last. Look, I know there were requests (Morzan, Izlanzidi, Shruikan) but these characters are so minor I doubt I could write a good chapter for them. So, I'm going to wrap this up. **

**Stay tuned for the conclusion! **


	16. Finale

Witchy Pixie was, as per usual, wasting valuable time on facebook. She heard her door open. She jumped about a foot because she's a very jumpy person naturally. However, when the Inheritance characters and Chrstopher stepped through her door, she screamed an incoherent jumble and looked like she was about to tackle Murtagh with a hug. That is, until she realized nearly all of them were pointing swords at her. (Yes, yes, that's-what-she-said, we get it)

"H-hi, guys." she said nervously.

"We need to talk." said Eragon.

'W-what about?" Pixie backed up slowly.

"Hmm, let's think." said Elva. "Portraying _me _as in love with _him?" _She pointed at Murtagh how nodded empathtically.

"Or calling me a mary-sue?" added Arya,glaring.

"_Or making fun of my size?" _came Saphira's mental message.

"Or making me look like a shallow, romantic teenager?" asked Nasuada.

"Or making fun of me, in general?" growled Galbatorix.

"Or making me say my death was _undignified?" _snapped Oromis

"_Or saying my name was a bad pun?" _projected Thorn.

"Or MAKING MY LIFE A LIVING HELL?" yelled Christopher. "Not to mention, my poor desk will never be the same considering how often I've banged by head on it lately. Neither will my skull. Or my sanity."

Pixie backed up against the wall. The light began to dim. The characters and their author continued to advance.

Murtagh, the character who had started it all said in a terrifying voice. "We have a complaint to make."

Finis!

**Sniff, sniff, it's….over! I'm so sad, this was one of my best fics and it was successful…and I had loyal reviewers who I love! Thank you all for sticking with Complaints…thank you all for your concrit, encouragement, and laughs. Stick around for more stories, I'll start something new soon. **

**Thoughts on the ending? And what was your favorite chapter?**

**I know there were a lot of requests for Morzan, and plenty of other people, but I truly felt this was as far as I could go with it. **

**Separate Entity, the line about the desk was in there just for you.**


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